Son of Neptune
by C.C Britannia
Summary: Don't know if any one has done this before. its the first chapter of son of neptune. no copy right infringement intended.


**Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters. Rick Riordan owns all.**

The snake-haired ladies were starting to annoy Percy.

They should have died three days ago when he dropped

a crate of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart.

They should have died two days ago when he ran over them

with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have

died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden Park.

No matter how many times Percy killed them and watched

them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming like large

evil dust bunnies. He couldn't even seem to outrun them.

He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How

long since he'd last killed them? Maybe two hours. They never

seemed to stay dead longer than that.

The past few days, he'd hardly slept. He'd eaten whatever

he could scrounge—vending machine Gummi Bears, stale

bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a new

personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered

with monster slime.

He'd only survived this long because the two snake-haired

ladies—gorgons, they called themselves—couldn't seem to kill

him either. Their claws didn't cut his skin. Their teeth broke

whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy couldn't keep going

much longer. Soon he'd collapse from exhaustion, and then

—as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty sure the gorgons

would find a way.

Where to run?

He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might've enjoyed the view. To his left, golden hills

rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods, and a few herds of

cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley and Oakland

marched west—a vast checkerboard of neighborhoods, with

several million people who probably did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and a filthy demigod.

Farther west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery

haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San

Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the towers

of the Golden Gate Bridge.

A vague sadness weighed on Percy's chest. Something told

him he'd been to San Francisco before. The city had some

connection to Annabeth—the only person he could remember from his past. His memory of her was frustratingly dim.

The wolf had promised he would see her again and regain his

memory—if he succeeded in his journey.

Should he try to cross the bay?

It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just

over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was

the best. He'd discovered that two days ago when he had

strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could

reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand. Maybe

he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore was at least

two miles away. He'd have to cross an entire city.

He hesitated for another reason. The wolf Lupa had taught

him to sharpen his senses—to trust the instincts that had

been guiding him south. His homing radar was tingling like

crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right

under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on

the hilltop.

The wind changed. Percy caught the sour scent of reptile.

A hundred yards down the slope, something rustled through

the woods—snapping branches, crunching leaves, hissing.

Gorgons.

For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren't

so good. They had always said they could smell him because

he was a demigod—the half-blood son of some old Roman

god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks,

even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets so he'd have

that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard

to mask.

He scrambled to the west side of the summit. It was too

steep to descend. The slope plummeted eighty feet, straight

to the roof of an apartment complex built into the side of the

hill. Fifty feet below that, a highway emerged from the base

of the hill and wound its way toward Berkeley.

Great. No other way off the hill. He'd managed to get

himself cornered.

He stared at the stream of cars flowing west toward San Percy

Francisco and wished he were in one of them. Then he realized the highway must cut through the hill. There must be a

tunnel . . . right under his feet.

His internal radar went nuts. He was in the right place,

just too high up. He had to check out that tunnel. He needed

a way down to the highway—fast.

He slung off his backpack. He'd managed to grab a lot of

supplies at the Napa Bargain Mart: a portable GPS, duct tape,

lighter, superglue, water bottle, camping roll, a comfy panda

pillow pet (as seen on TV), and a Swiss army knife—pretty

much every tool a modern demigod could want. But he had

nothing that would serve as a parachute or a sled.

That left him two options: jump eighty feet to his death,

or stand and fight. Both options sounded pretty bad.

He cursed and pulled his pen from his pocket.

The pen didn't look like much, just a regular cheap ballpoint, but when Percy uncapped it, it grew into a glowing

bronze sword. The blade balanced perfectly. The leather grip

fit his hand like it had been custom designed for him. Etched

along the guard was an Ancient Greek word Percy somehow

understood: Anaklusmos—Riptide.

He'd woken up with this sword his first night at the Wolf

House—two months ago? More? He'd lost track. He'd found

himself in the courtyard of a burned-out mansion in the middle of the woods, wearing shorts, an orange T-shirt, and a

leather necklace with a bunch of strange clay beads. Riptide

had been in his hand, but Percy had had no idea who he was

or how he'd gotten there. He'd been barefoot, freezing, and

confused. And then the wolves came. . . .Percy

Right next to him, a familiar voice jolted him back to the

present: "There you are!"

Percy stumbled away from the gorgon, almost falling off

the edge of the hill.

It was the smiley one—Beano.

Okay, her name wasn't really Beano. As near as Percy

could figure, he was dyslexic, because words got twisted

around when he tried to read. The first time he'd seen the

gorgon, posing as a Bargain Mart greeter with a big green

button that read: welcome! my name is stheno, he'd thought

it said beano.

She was still wearing her green Bargain Mart employee

vest over a flower-print dress. If you just looked at her body,

you might think she was somebody's dumpy old grandmother

—until you looked down and realized she had rooster feet.

Or you looked up and saw bronze boar tusks sticking out of

the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed red, and her hair

was a writhing nest of bright green snakes.

The most horrible thing about her? She was still holding her big silver platter of free samples: Crispy Cheese 'n'

Wieners. Her platter was all dented from all the times Percy

had killed her, but those little samples looked perfectly fine.

Stheno just kept toting them across California so she could

offer Percy a snack before she killed him. Percy didn't know

why she kept doing that, but if he ever needed a suit of armor,

he was going to make it out of Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners.

That stuff was indestructible.

"Try one?" Stheno offered.

Percy fended her off with his sword. "Where's your sister?"

"Oh, put the sword away," Stheno chided. "You know by

now that even Celestial bronze can't kill us for long. Have a

Cheese 'n' Wiener! They're on sale this week, and I'd hate to

kill you on an empty stomach."

"Stheno!" The second gorgon appeared on Percy's right

so fast, he didn't have time to react. Fortunately she was too

busy glaring at her sister to pay him much attention. "I told

you to sneak up on him and kill him!"

Stheno's smile wavered. "But, Euryale . . ." She said the

name so it rhymed with Muriel. "Can't I give him a sample

first?"

"No, you imbecile!" Euryale turned toward Percy and

bared her fangs.

Except for her hair, which was a nest of coral snakes instead

of green vipers, she looked exactly like her sister. Her Bargain

Mart vest, her flowery dress, even her tusks were decorated

with 50% off stickers. Her name badge read: Hello! My name

is die, demigod scum!

"You've led us quite a chase, Percy Jackson," Euryale said.

"But now you're trapped, and we'll have our revenge!"

"The Cheese 'n' Wieners are only $2.99," Stheno added

helpfully. "Grocery department, aisle three."

Euryale snarled. "Stheno, the Bargain Mart was a front!

You're going native! Now, put down that ridiculous tray and

help me kill this demigod. Or have you forgotten that he's

the one who vaporized Medusa?"

Percy stepped back. Six more inches, and he'd be tumbling

through thin air. "Look, ladies, we've been over this. I don't

even remember killing Medusa. I don't remember anything!

Can't we just call a truce and talk about your weekly specials?"

Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to do

with giant bronze tusks. "Can we?"

"No!" Euryale's red eyes bored into Percy. "I don't care

what you remember, son of the sea god. I can smell Medusa's

blood on you. It's faint, yes, several years old, but you were the

last one to defeat her. She still has not returned from Tartarus.

It's your fault!"

Percy didn't really get that. The whole "dying then returning from Tartarus" concept gave him a headache. Of course,

so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a sword,

or that monsters could disguise themselves with something

called the Mist, or that Percy was the son of a barnacleencrusted god from five thousand years ago. But he did believe

it. Even though his memory was erased, he knew he was a

demigod the same way he knew his name was Percy Jackson.

From his very first conversation with Lupa the wolf, he'd

accepted that this crazy messed-up world of gods and monsters was his reality. Which pretty much sucked.

"How about we call it a draw?" he said. "I can't kill you.

You can't kill me. If you're Medusa's sisters—like the Medusa

who turned people to stone—shouldn't I be petrified by now?"

"Heroes!" Euryale said with disgust. "They always bring

that up, just like our mother! 'Why can't you turn people to

stone? Your sister can turn people to stone.' Well, I'm sorry

to disappoint you, boy! That was Medusa's curse alone. She

was the most hideous one in the family. She got all the luck!"

Stheno looked hurt. "Mother said I was the most hideous."

"Quiet!" Euryale snapped. "As for you, Percy Jackson, it's

true you bear the mark of Achilles. That makes you a little

tougher to kill. But don't worry. We'll find a way."

"The mark of what?"

"Achilles," Stheno said cheerfully. "Oh, he was gorgeous!

Dipped in the River Styx as a child, you know, so he was

invulnerable except for a tiny spot on his ankle. That's what

happened to you, dear. Someone must've dumped you in the

Styx and made your skin like iron. But not to worry. Heroes

like you always have a weak spot. We just have to find it, and

then we can kill you. Won't that be lovely? Have a Cheese

'n' Wiener!"

Percy tried to think. He didn't remember any dip in the

Styx. Then again, he didn't remember much of anything. His

skin didn't feel like iron, but it would explain how he'd held

out so long against the gorgons.

Maybe if he just fell down the mountain . . . would he survive? He didn't want to risk it—not without something to slow

the fall, or a sled, or . . .

He looked at Stheno's large silver platter of free samples.

Hmm . . .

"Reconsidering?" Stheno asked. "Very wise, dear. I added

some gorgon's blood to these, so your death will be quick and

painless."

Percy's throat constricted. "You added your blood to the

Cheese 'n' Wieners?"

"Just a little." Stheno smiled. "A little nick on my arm,

but you're sweet to be concerned. Blood from our right side

can cure anything, you know, but blood from our left side is

deadly—"

"You dimwit!" Euryale screeched. "You're not supposed to

tell him that! He won't eat the wieners if you tell him they're

poisoned!"

Stheno looked stunned. "He won't? But I said it would be

quick and painless."

"Never mind!" Euryale's fingernails grew into claws.

"We'll kill him the hard way—just keep slashing until we find

the weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we'll be more

famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!"

Percy gripped his sword. He'd have to time his move

perfectly—a few seconds of confusion, grab the platter with

his left hand . . .

Keep them talking, he thought.

"Before you slash me to bits," he said, "who's this patron

you mentioned?"

Euryale sneered. "The goddess Gaea, of course! The one

who brought us back from oblivion! You won't live long

enough to meet her, but your friends below will soon face

her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the

Feast of Fortune, she'll awaken, and the demigods will be cut

down like—like—"

"Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!" Stheno suggested.

"Gah!" Euryale stormed toward her sister.

Percy took the opening. He grabbed Stheno's platter,

scattering poisoned Cheese 'n' Wieners, and slashed Riptide

across Euryale's waist, cutting her in half.

He raised the platter, and Stheno found herself facing her

own greasy reflection.

"Medusa!" she screamed.

Her sister Euryale had crumbled to dust, but she was

already starting to re-form, like a snowman un-melting.

"Stheno, you fool!" she gurgled as her half-made face rose

from the mound of dust. "That's just your own reflection!

Get him!"

Percy slammed the metal tray on top of Stheno's head, and

she passed out cold.

He put the platter behind his butt, said a silent prayer

to whatever Roman god oversaw stupid sledding tricks, and

jumped off the side of the hill.


End file.
